


Commiseration

by Sarcasticles



Category: One Piece
Genre: Family Issues, Gen, Light Angst, Mugiwara no Ichimi | Straw Hat Pirates As Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticles/pseuds/Sarcasticles
Summary: Robin didn’t talk much about her mother. Strangely enough, neither did Usopp.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 104





	Commiseration

Robin didn’t recognize the silence at first. She had been engrossed in a book, a history of the West Blue predating the Buster Call that she’d been trying to get her hands on for years. There was nothing between the covers that she hadn’t read before. The history of an entire sea was too broad a topic to go into too much depth on any one subject, but it wrote of Ohara and the library that rested there, and it did so without calling the scholars of the Tree of Knowledge demons or monsters or traitors of their chosen field. Newer editions of the same book had been sterilized by the World Government, passages that lovingly described the verdant branches of the great library scrubbed from the public consciousness as if it never existed.

Of course, a book of history would love the historian’s holy land, and Robin remembered reading this very tome from within those hallowed grounds. The memory was a balm for the ache she still felt when she thought of Ohara, the familiar words a warm summer breeze against her soul. 

But then, there was quiet. 

It was the sort of quiet that became its own sound, unfamiliar and unwelcome in a crew as boisterous as hers. As was her habit, Robin had her ears spread throughout the _Thousand Sunny._ There was a time she had been forced to listen for the first sounds of betrayal, but those days were long past. The lesson borne out of paranoia evolved to serve a more benevolent purpose.

Robin marked her place and peered across the deck. Luffy sat crosslegged at the ship’s prow, a monkey atop the head of a lion. He was in one of his rare contemplative moods, gazing out at the sea with eyes lit with a childlike wonder. Sometimes Robin wondered what he saw that excited him so. 

But even now he was not still. Luffy never was, not even in sleep. He hummed a rather out of tune rendition of Bink’s Sake, slapping his sandals together as he kept time. He was not the source of the quiet, and so Robin stood, stretching in a long, catlike motion and wandered to the woman’s quarters. 

Robin spread her eyes as she walked. Sanji was cooking, and Zoro kept watch while lifting weights. Brook was on fishing duty with Chopper by order of Nami, after an ill-considered dare led him to breaking the glass of the aquarium with his voice alone. Franky had, of course, replaced it posthaste, but was in the bowels of the ship drafting a new design that was resistant to sound as well as any damage that might be caused by any future roughhousing. 

None of them caused the disquiet that Robin felt in her bones. She dropped her book off in her bedroom, exchanging brief pleasantries with Nami and inquiring how her researched fared as she charted their course ahead.

“I’m still not sure how we’re going to get to Fishman Island,” Nami admitted. She took off her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes with her forefinger and thumb. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Robin’s smile seemed to reassure her some, and she let Nami return to her books. Her apprehension, while noteworthy, was not the source of the silence that roused Robin from her reading, which left one final destination. 

She found Usopp at the workbench of his designated tinkering room. Surprisingly, it was cleared of the odds and ends he used while inventing. Instead he had the day’s paper spread out flat, staring intently without seeming to actually _read._

Robin couldn’t think of a time she had seen him worry over the news. She could count on one hand the time she’d seen him with a paper at all. Like most of the Straw Hats, he was content to let his knowledge of the outside world filter through Nami, trusting her to share with the crew anything that was important enough for them to know. 

He was tense, singularly focused on the words that lay in front of him. All the boisterous enthusiasm, the bravado -- both warranted and not -- had left him, leaving Usopp looking strangely small. His bluff and bluster usually puffed him two sizes bigger than he actually was, but now all Robin could see was his knobby elbows and the round youthfulness that remained in his face. 

Usopp seemed...young. Unsure of himself in a way he rarely let others see, but often felt. Robin was suddenly aware that he had sequestered himself away on purpose, taking the news that distressed him so much to the one space on the ship that was well and truly _his._

Robin lingered in the doorway for a moment, uncharacteristically unsure of herself. It was difficult while out at sea to find a place to be alone with one’s thoughts. Not every bout of quietness required direct intervention. Not every secret needed pried loose. 

This, too, was a difficult concept that Robin was just starting to wrap her mind around. She had spent her life searching for hidden things. There were no efforts she wouldn’t go to in order to find the truth, no matter how painful or personal. Secrets were powerful, just as capable of destroying a person as a knife or a gun. Robin collected secrets like some did bottle caps, and had learned as a young girl to jealously guard her own lest they be used against her. 

The Straw Hat Pirates deserved the same privacy they had afforded her. And besides, Nami was not the only member of the crew who read the paper, and Robin had an inkling as to what was bothering their sharpshooter so badly. 

Robin was about to slip away unnoticed when something within Usopp shifted. He stared at the black and white print so long he saw red, and making a sound that was half-curse, half-noise of impotent frustration he crumpled the paper into a ball and hurled it across the room. Usopp spun sharply away from the table, as if he was about to storm from the room, bringing himself face to face with Robin. 

All the color drained from his face and settled in his ears, which burned with embarrassment. He sputtered half a dozen excuses and apologies before Robin held up a hand to silence him.

“It’s okay. I was just passing by and wondered if you wanted me to fetch you a drink. I believe Sanji was working on a new concoction using some of the jackfruit we found on the last island.”

It was ironic that he couldn’t tell that she was lying. Usopp let out a rush of breath that he’d been holding, shoulders drooping like a flower in the desert sun. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for asking, though.”

His fingers became restless, fidgeting and twitching with the need to be working on something, _anything_ , to distract from the fact that he was very much _not fine_. Robin waited as he pulled supplies from the cubby holes Franky installed in the walls: his chemistry set, a few sheets of scrap metal, a long-handled wrench. Nothing that could be used effectively in conjunction with each other, a sign that his mind was still preoccupied. 

And truly, Robin would have been content to let the matter drop, but she knew at that moment that he did not want to be alone. She had long-since memorized his tells, the little shifts of insecurity and nerves that went beyond his usual theatrics, the quiver of his lips as he tried to speak but couldn’t find the words. 

She slid into the seat next to him and waited. If there was one thing she knew about Usopp, it was that he could not be kept speechless for long. 

“It’s stupid,” Usopp muttered. He bent so low his long nose nearly touched the table, clasping his hands around the back of his neck, his nails digging into skin and leaving white streaks that filled in red. 

“How do you mean?” Robin asked. 

“It’s just...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Everything was fine the way it was, and now...I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Only this time the tone he used for the word _it’s_ made it sound as if he’d meant _I’m._ Robin conjured a line of hands to retrieve the crumpled up paper and smoothed it out on the table. The headline was about a recent marine skirmish with Red Hair Shanks, and some intrepid soul had managed to catch a snapshot of the battle itself. 

Beside the Emperor was a tall man with dark skin, dreadlocks hanging to his shoulders and a gun in each hand. A tattoo was partially visible below a billowing and rather tacky cloak with the letters _Yas_ clearly legible. 

Even without it, the man would have been unmistakable. His grin was identical to his son’s after a particularly good shot: cocksure, almost arrogant. But justifiably so, if the rumors of his sharpshooting prowess were to be believed. 

“I wanna see him so bad it hurts,” Usopp said miserably. “So why am I so _mad_?”

Robin folded the paper into neat fourths and set it aside. She knew enough about Usopp’s past to understand what he was saying, having pieced together the snippets and stories he’d shared during their travels. Some of them may even have been true, but even if they weren’t it was evident that Usopp worshiped his father. Held him as a picture of an ideal pirate, one that chased his dreams on the open sea no matter the cost.

Even if that meant leaving his family behind. 

There were other details that were less clear. Usopp spoke less frequently about his mother, but always warmly and with great fondness. The rest of the crew made it seem as if he had been living alone when they found him at Syrup Village, a boy of seventeen by himself in an empty house. Robin could guess what had happened, but she didn’t know for sure. Whatever the case, there was no mistaking the hurt on Usopp’s face now, and the anger he used to defend himself from it. Grief and loss commingling with confusion and helplessness into one wretched expression.

Robin knew, because she had experienced it herself. She could read all the histories she wanted about Ohara that venerated the ground that it sat on, but without the buffeting layers of nostalgia the truth became much more complicated. Her few happy memories with the archeologists were like a scab protecting a bleeding wound, and once peeled away all that remained was a lifetime of pain and misery. 

“There is nothing wrong with being angry,” Robin said. “And there is nothing wrong with admiring him.”

“But those two things don’t fit together,” Usopp protested. 

“I know.”

Robin hadn’t meant the words to come out as bitterly as they did, leaving the sour taste of regret in her mouth. Usopp looked at her, eyebrows knitting together in an unspoken question. 

It was her turn to go silent. Robin had not spoken about her mother in anything but the broadest terms, preferring not to think of her if she could help it. Twenty years had passed, and the contradiction did not get any easier to untangle, the knot of repressed feeling, confusion, and resentment growing only larger over time.

But Usopp waited for her to speak, and Robin realized suddenly that if there was anyone on this ship who could understand, it was him. The revelation startled something loose, the one final push to break down one of her oldest and strongest walls. 

“My mother left Ohara when I was young to study the poneglyphs,” Robin said. She propped her hand under her chin and looked at the opposite wall, studying the grain in the wood to distract from the surprise on Usopp’s face. “My father passed away before I was born, and my only relatives were my mother’s brother and his wife. They had a girl about my age, my only cousin. And they hated me, or at least my aunt did. The rest followed suit.”

Robin blinked to clear her vision, which had gone unexpectedly misty. She had forgotten the truth of her words until she was forced to say them aloud, locking the memories of home into some deep corner of her soul and throwing away the key. Now they rushed back and pressed against the corners of her skull, _demanding_ to be remembered. For the truth to be told, instead of the sweet falsehood that was so much easier to bear.

“She’s the reason I became an archeologist,” Robin admitted. “I thought that if I did she would take me out to sea. I met her, once. The day Ohara burned. She told me she was proud of what I accomplished and sent me out alone. She died with the rest of the scholars trying to save the library.”

A lost cause, Robin knew. Had always known. Ohara had been doomed the moment the World Government pressed the golden den-den mushi. And still her mother stayed. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t have made a difference, but Robin had always wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn’t. If anything would have changed if Robin had one person who she could trust and depend on instead of spending twenty years struggling to keep her head above water in a sea of loneliness and isolation.

“Why?” Usopp asked. 

“I wish I knew,” Robin said. “She said I would understand someday, but it hasn’t come yet.”

It occurred to Robin then that she was doing a very poor job, sharing her own woes instead comforting Usopp. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose before turning back to look at him properly. It was difficult to find a smile for him, but she managed. The caustic aftertaste of her own bitterness twisted it into something less than genuine. 

“I’ve worshiped my mother and cursed her name, sometimes in the same breath. I’ve hated her, and loved her, and wanted her, and wished I never knew her all at once. I’ve dreamed of seeing her and wanted nothing more than to hurt her beyond the grave. It’s not logical, and there was a time when it almost consumed me.” Robin paused, more memories of an angry and self-destructive adolesce causing an involuntary shudder to go through her.

Really, it was a wonder she was still alive at all. There had been nothing left after the rage burnt itself out, the pressing need of her own survival giving her little time to nurse the hurt into a wrath that could sustain itself. Bit by bit the weight of life had pressed against her, smothering what little hope she had left and leaving a bleak wasteland that made Robin want to curl up and die. 

After all, she’d twice been abandoned by her own mother. Who would want a monster as unlovable as that?

“I just don’t understand why he never came back,” Usopp said after the silence went on a beat too long to be considered comfortable. “Or write, or _something._ Was he trying to protect us?”

He looked down at his hands, calluses and fine white scars crisscrossing into a map that laid out the path of his adventures. He clenched them into fists, the strain pulling the tendons taunt against his knuckles. 

“Did he forget about us? Does he know what happened to Mom? Does he even _care_?”

Usopp kicked at the leg of the table, then yelped when he succeeded in stubbing his toe. His eyes shone with unshed tears, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Robin knew the physical pain wasn’t their source.

“I don’t know,” Robin said. The blunt truth startled another yelp out of him, and Usopp looked up at her with his jaw slack and an unguarded look of terror in his eyes. Robin felt her expression soften, and she reached out to lay her hand over his. 

It had been a long time since her touch could offer comfort instead of destruction. The simple act of holding his hand brought back more memories, one that was neither the tearing pain of her miserable childhood nor the false nostalgia that she’d hidden behind for so long. It was a healing sort of hurt, powerful in its simplicity, and Robin gave a soft, reassuring squeeze. 

_I’ve wanted to do this for a long time._

“What I do know is that your father is still alive,” Robin said gently, “and when the right time comes I believe that you will have the courage to face him.” She paused, one last silence in a day that had been full of them.

“And...you don’t have to follow his path. No matter how similar you are, no matter how much of him rests in your heart, you are not your father.”

Robin thought back to that last meeting with her mother. She had been honest when she said she didn’t understand why she had stayed behind. Her mother had chosen her dream over the people she loved. Despite Robin’s best efforts to convince herself otherwise, as time passed and she became, if not unbiased, then more openminded, it became clear that her mother had loved her very, very much. 

He mother said that Robin would someday understand, and when faced with the same impossible choice Robin thought she finally would. Had her mother been at Water 7 Robin had no doubt that she would have chosen her own survival over the life of the Straw Hat Pirates. After all, that’s what she had done at Ohara. 

But Robin couldn’t. Twenty years later, and she was still no closer to understanding. She made her peace with that. She had to, or the contradiction would have torn her in two. 

Usopp broke through her ruminations with a hug that threatened to crush her. Robin sprouted arms to keep her chair from tipping, then returned the embrace, digging her fingers into the rough fabric of his coveralls as if he’d disappear if she didn’t hold on with all her strength. 

“Thanks, Robin,” he said, his voice muffled and wet. 

Robin smiled, not caring when a tear slipped down her cheek. She had no answer, safe to tighten her hold, the silence holding more understanding than words ever could


End file.
